


Putting The Dog to Sleep

by suchashay



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Vessels, Anal Sex, Decapitation, Dismemberment, Force Visions, Kinda, M/M, so many alternate universes, the fic is pretty tame don't let the tags fool you, they seem to love killing each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7453126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchashay/pseuds/suchashay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo is confused, at first, by how everything seems to be bathed in green shades and tones, tendrils of black hair floating around his face without ever really touching his skin.</p><p>He blinks.</p><p>Hux is watching him through the glass of the bacta tank.</p><p>His eyes are colder than Kylo remembers them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Putting The Dog to Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this during a car ride because I was bored and [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2lxJwVcrlEw) started playing, which made me WHIP OUT MY NOTEPAD AND COMPELLED ME TO WRITE. The vibe this music conveys is unreal okay.
> 
> I barely edited it, all the mistakes are mine.

Kylo is floating.

He weighs nothing – is not sure if he even has a body, his mind drifting through waves of vague thoughts and hazy concepts that mean nothing to him at this moment. Whatever his being is made of right now, it's fluid, inconsistent, and his sense of self is so blurry that he finds himself doubting if he even _is_.

Maybe he isn't Kylo Ren. Maybe he's just existing between two planes of existence, neither here nor there, not in the past, present, or future. Just in the middle of everything and nowhere at once. The prospect should make him dizzy, frenzied and feverish with panic – a proper reaction to the fear of the unknown, the absence of anything material and physical, a threat to his body and mind.

Instead, he just feels serene.

It doesn't last.

The first threads of unease start to wrap around him, sneakily forming a smothering cocoon as the total darkness that had taken over his sight's rightful place starts to evaporate around him, like fog under the first rays of sunshine.

Kylo looks behind him, into where there is only black and silence. Suddenly aware that he can move, the desperate urge to throw himself back into the abyss grips him by the throat. He beats his will into staying where he is, knowing there is a reason why he was spat back into a physical form, although it is eluding him for the moment.

He glances down at his clothing as his surroundings gradually take shape around him, noticing the yellow hues the lightsaber in his hand is casting against the brown and cream of the outfit he is clad in. He wants to frown, puzzled in a distant way that doesn't seem to affect the body he's wearing – because that's the first thing that comes to his mind when he tries to describe the odd way he moves. Like ill-fitting clothes. He recognizes the moles on his skin, the way his pinky finger doesn't wrap all the way around the hilt of his weapon, a flaw he's never bothered to correct during his training.

All is familiar, yet alien. Everything feels off, somehow.

Kylo understands when he recognizes the throne room, the ruined walls of Snoke's citadel, watches his own hand descend the saber upon Snoke's head, splitting it neatly in half along with the creature's throat and the beginning of his torso. The feedback he gets from this action is not his; the elation, the satisfaction and overjoyed exhaustion is not his. It belongs to the body he's possessing but cannot control, bound to witness its doings without being able to change their course. Aware of everything, without having the capacity to act.

A pained roar escapes his mouth as he stumbles forward, the shock of a blaster bolt hitting him in the shoulder barely registering before he spins around to defect a second one coming his way. His upper lip is curled up into a snarl that rivals Hux's one. The General only spares a quick glance down at Snoke's corpse before another shot is fired, the sound of it echoing into the deserted room as he takes a step forward, and that's then that Kylo sees the dozen of Stormtroopers littering the floor.

Hux wobbles, his face paling by the second, hand holding the firearm shaking, and Kylo realizes why the man infamous for never missing a shot hadn't managed to kill him on the spot. Hux's right forearm is missing. He doesn't need to look at the sizzled end of the sleeve to know how it happened.

Hux fires again, and again, and again, each bolt deflected merely adding fury to his features as Kylo's body advances towards him, slow but determined, and Kylo knows how this is going to end, doesn't have to catch the flicker of desperation in Hux's eyes (he does), or the way he grits his teeth in belligerent resignation, to predict the outcome of this encounter.

He doesn't want to watch.

He tries to push himself out of this body even as the yellow length sinks deep into the other man, severing Hux's other arm from the shoulder down. Kylo is sure he could have easily killed him quickly, efficiently, but for some reasons the owner of this body chose not to. Hux's howl rings into his ears and against the walls even after he bit his tongue to prevent any further noise from escaping his lips, visceral, raw – something that Kylo wishes he had never heard. Not from this mouth, not with this voice.

The General crumbles, the last dregs of strength leaving him to deal with his pain alone, and Kylo feels sick.

He's glad this stomach is not his, either.

Hux is only allowed two seconds to stare up at Kylo with bare, pure and consuming hatred before the lightsaber swings down once again, a final blow. Kylo wants to scream when he sees his own feet nudge at Hux's head, making it roll away from his disconnected neck, dead eyes staring at a fixed point on the opposite wall, jaw lax and mouth slack.

Horror seizes him, but he doesn't have the time to truly grasp the meaning of this nightmarish whirlwind of emotions before he's ripped away from the scene, kicked out of this corporeal entity only to find himself in another one, still a witness through his own eyes as he takes in this new place. He's confused, at first, by how everything seems to be bathed in green shades and tones, tendrils of black hair floating around his face without ever really touching his skin.

He blinks.

Hux is watching him through the glass of the bacta tank.

His eyes are colder than Kylo remembers them. He doesn't know for how long they stare at each other, but at some point Hux's attention darts down to what Kylo assumes to be his hand, and he can only guess through foggy sensations that he has just moved some fingers.

It seems to spur Hux into action, the man's fingertips tapping expertly onto a screen next to Kylo's tank, face set and eyes taking an edge that would have made Kylo's heart drop if this body had been linked to his presence here. Instead, he's just a spectator, passive and agitated. He can only look at his limbs as they start to tremble pathetically, his ribcage's movements quickening as his lungs attempt to inhale oxygen that is no longer provided. Hux doesn't budge even as Kylo's eyelids start to droop, the mask over his nose and mouth rendered useless, body too weak to grant energy to the flailing reflexes he knows should have kicked in.

The General's expression hasn't changed in the slightest during those few minutes, and it's looking at sharp and uninterested eyes that Kylo leaves this body.

Trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Hux just killed him, without any remorse showing.

The next instance is a short-lived one. At first, he thinks he's back to his normal, old self if the black robes and pants are anything to go by, but he's rapidly disillusioned when a hand settles on his bicep, making him look down.

Leia Organa is smiling up at him. A discreet thing – Kylo feels his face mirror it even as his own self wants to grab the nearest fork on the banquet table and plant it in her eye. The need is violent and physically painful, so overwhelming that he barely registers the other person at his side among the crowd of frills and expansive fabrics until a glass is pushed into his hand.

He hears himself thanking Hux in a wary but distracted tone, the man draped in an uncharacteristically white and golden uniform, looking more regal than Kylo has ever seen him.

He's smiling, too.

Kylo drinks, paying attention to Hux only from the corner of his eye, and as Hux's smile turns into a slow grin, into something full of teeth that lacks the warmth the gesture is supposed to convey, Kylo's fingers loosen, his vision going dark at the same moment his glass hits the floor and shatters with what he would judge to be an unnecessarily deafening sound. His ears barely catch it.

The last thing he sees is the tips of Hux's white boots.

The next body he inhabits is breathing Hux's name into the other man's mouth. It merely takes Kylo three seconds for his initial confusion to transform into bewilderment, then mortification when he hears himself keening and moaning as Hux fucks into him in earnest, the snap of his hips pulling frantic sounds out of Kylo's chest – and there's something in Hux's eyes that makes him figure out exactly what's going on, that makes him oddly ache as the embarrassment morphs and becomes yearning.

Kylo would rather have never stumbled upon this – he wasn't supposed to see that. This is a private, intimate moment in ways that even the knowledge that it is his own body which Hux is using and worshiping on equal measures can't smother the shame that is taking over him.

The certainty that the whispered “come on, love” and “come for me” – “yes” – “you're so--” breathed between them is not meant for his ears, nor is the “love you” muttered against his cheek between heavy exhales.

The twitch in Hux's body is as sudden as the appearance of the red, flowing spot in the middle of his forehead, right between his brows, and Kylo cannot even see him drop dead onto him before his own host is killed, sight snapping back to black, and bringing an odd sort of grief with it.

It stays with him for the next four 'reincarnations', then fades away as Kylo begins to lose himself in the train of killing and being killed.

He wonders if it's his curse. Stuck in limbos, showing what could have been, what could still happen, what could never be, all of it drenched in blood and only leading to premature death. There is no good ending for him, that much is clear now, and he ponders, fleetingly, over whether or not his fate has actually already come to catch him. If this is what it is like, to be dead. Maybe this is the Force's doing, a punishment for not completing what he was supposed to do, whatever that might be.

Killing Snoke.

Killing Hux.

Not killing Han Solo.

Not killing ~~himself~~  Ben.

Choosing a side, or living in between, suffering but in control.

When he opens his eyes again, he finds himself back into a bacta tank; Kylo is familiar with this scenario, has gone through it already.

He blinks.

Hux is watching him through the glass.

Kylo's heart-rate picks up when he orders his body to blink once again, and it does; he can hear the faint beeping of the scanners going wild through the thick liquid. Hux's eyes narrow, face unreadable as he scrutinizes the wounded man, defenseless and barely conscious.

Kylo remembers what happened last time. What Hux did.

Still, he moves a finger.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always if you wanna kick my ass you can find me at [Huxlicious](http://huxlicious.tumblr.com/) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
